Tears
by gayle dayle bayle
Summary: "Some part of Roderich was surprised to feel fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. After all, one would have thought he'd run out of tears by now." In which Gilbert gets very, very ill.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia**

When Roderich came home it was to find Gilbert sitting on the couch looking grim. He was slumped over, elbows resting on his knees and his head atop his two closed fists. One his face was a look so uncharacteristically serious and contemplative it seemed almost as if it was another person entirely, not Gilbert.

"I went to the doctor's office today," he began as Roderich sat down besides him. Roderich wrapped one arm around him and wriggled his other hand into Gilbert's

"And"?" he prompted after a few moments of silence. Roderich had suggested that Gilbert take a trip to the doctor's after the third time he fell ill. It simply wasn't normal for an otherwise healthy person to be so seriously sick every few months!

"And they said that I have this thing - can't pronounce the name of it - that at first makes my immune system almost completely stop working before…" Gilbert trailed off.

"Before _what_ , Gilbert?" Roderich asked, a seed of fear beginning to bloom in his heart.

"Before it'll go haywire and completely shut my body down, killing me," Gilbert finished shakily.

Roderich's heart nearly stopped. This had to be some sick joke, right? Gilbert was only twenty-five, he couldn't possible be dying!

But looking into his eyes, Roderich could find no hint, no scrap of humour or his usual jovial attitude.

Roderich held Gilbert close and sobbed into his hoodie as the other rubbed soothing circles on his back.

Some time later - it could have been minutes or hours or even days, Roderich didn't know and frankly didn't care - his tears ran out.

"Is there anything we can do?" Roderich asked. After all, there had to be something, right?

Gilbert shook his head. "There's a few meds the doctor said I should take, but at this point they're more for quality of life than anything else.

"How long…?" Roderich couldn't bring himself to finish the statement. "A few months at most," Gilbert answered dully.

Roderich didn't know how, but he summoned yet more tears and broke out in another bout of sobs.

––– ––– –––

Telling the others was hard, to say the least. Elizaveta had cried, but not as much or as loudly as Feliciano. Ludwig, meanwhile, seemed to be in denial, madly researching any way to help his older brother, ignoring Gilbert's claims that they'd caught it too late to do anything substantial.

Roderich and Gilbert's lives quickly became cluttered with pills. Gilbert's medications, for fever and pains and a whole slew of other things. Gilbert's ability to do so much as leave the house without falling ill was fastly leaving him. Roderich's cat. Strudel, had to move in with Elizaveta due to his allergies suddenly taking a turn for the now deadly worst.

Roderich loved his cat, but now he couldn't bear the thought of her being able to return.

Gilbert slept a lot more now, because of his disabled immune system. He had assured Roderich that was moving around during the day to prevent complete muscle deterioration, but by the time Roderich got home around five o'clock he was usually asleep. On some days, however, Gilbert was still awake, and the two of them talked and cuddled together in bed.

It was one one such day that Roderich came home. Leaving his shoes by the door, he entered their bedroom and slipped under the sheets next to Gilbert, who was somewhere in between awake and asleep. He almost automatically moved to hold Roderich, nuzzling into him.

Roderich shifted so that they would be in a more comfortable position and began carding Gilbert's hair, working his fingers through the tangles and snarls that always seemed to materialize in it despite its short length.

"M'sorry for doing this t'ya," Gilbert said suddenly. His face was pressed into Roderich's chest, which muffled his words somewhat, butRoderich could hear him just fine. "I know'm hurtin' you, 'n'm'sorry for that."

"D-don't say that, you idiot! This isn't your fault, don't blame yourself!" Roderich said as he began to almost frantically rock Gilbert back and forth.

"Gilbert?" Roderich asked when he hadn't responded within a few moments. He repeated himself, louder this time. Maybe Gilbert had fallen asleep? He had been pretty drowsy.

But still he did not answer, and Roderich numbly began to search for a pulse.

Finding none, some part of Roderich was surprised to feel fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. After al, one would have thought he'd run out of tears by now.

 **Written for the ask-art-student-prussia au on tumblr because the mun said I could and also I've written mostly fluff here.**


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